


who?

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a sad ending, Gen, M/M, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sherlock walks around the flat.Two chairs, one unused forever, serving no purpose.Two rooms, one empty and bleak, dust collecting on the closed curtains.He looks into the room, the sight offering him difficult sadness, one he does not understand.No one has ever lived here.or, sherlock deletes john and mycroft figures out.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BignRichKris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BignRichKris/gifts).



Sherlock walks around the flat.

Two chairs, one unused forever, serving no purpose.

Two rooms, one empty and bleak, dust collecting on the closed curtains.

He looks into the room, the sight offering him difficult sadness, one he does not understand.

No one has ever lived here.

Why does he feel sad at the sight of the empty bed?

Or the uncluttered side table?

He doesn’t know.

He wanders around, fingers dancing along countertops as he passes.

He sees a mug, one he does not remember buying.

He thinks nothing of it.

He stands by the window, mourning someone he does not know, harboring a sadness of a forgotten friend.

Maybe someone more.

He plays the violin, a sorrowful song prancing off it’s strings.

Words want to escape his lips, words gone with the flow of the breeze.

He dreams each passing night of a pair of blue eyes, familiar yet distant.

He wakes up with a feeling of hopelessness, those eyes long forgotten.

He lives in a cloud of melancholy isolation, broken only by the occasional visit of Mrs. hudson.

She always looks at the floor, avoiding eye contact with the man.

She speaks softly, as if afraid to break a delicate tightrope she is balancing on. One that she could break with a single miscalculated step.

Sherlock goes on cases, not feeling the thrill and adrenaline that used to rush through his veins.

One day Mycroft utters a name Sherlock does not recognize, one that brings him enormous amounts of confusion and guilt.

“John”

He speaks this word as if it should be familiar, as if it is common knowledge or a friend. He speaks it causally but stiffly,

testing for his little brothers reaction. Sherlock responds with a slight cock of his head and his dark brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“Who?” he says, the taste of curiosity and slight fear of what he might hear lingering on his tongue.

Mycroft freezes, his eyes briefly shattering in a all encompassing realization.

He tries to regain his mental footing, to jog the other mans memory

“you know, the man that lived in this flat for years?” he says, knowing that this quest is futile.

“john watson?” he adds

“No” he says, strangely unconfused by the thought of someone else living here, despite his memory recalling no one. Mycroft looks on, an equally horrified and somber expression drawn on his face.

_John. Sherlock deleted John._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry it’s so short! next one will be longer i promise!

Mycroft calls John, voice wavering slightly. 

When john hears this he instantly becomes more alert and worried. 

As Mycroft continues he becomes more and more shocked, the pain causing his voice to crack ever so slightly. 

John calls a cabbie, the shock of this situation still rolling over him in waves. 

He steps out of the black car, coat rumpled slightly from the amount of force he used to throw himself into the cab. 

He knocks on the door, body tense and breathing constructed by the fear that his closets friend has forgot him completely. 

It opens reveal Sherlock, his brows knit together in confusion as a slight glitter of recognition flashes in his eyes before it is snuffed out by sadness and some sort of bewilderment and turmoil. 

“Sherlock-?” 

“Are you john?” He responds, eyes narrowing in suspicion, he has no reason to trust this mystery man.   
None that he can remember. 

Those words strike John deep in his heart, they hurt more than any bullet could.  
He is fragile as is, but this is something different.   
Something that makes his heart constrict in a painful way, as if someone is wringing it out for any more tears and pain it can sustain. 

“Y-Yes. I’m John” he says, outstretching his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

John sits in his chair, which was previously occupied by stacks of paper and books.   
He tells himself this didn’t hurt, but he knows he is lying. 

Mycroft stands sourly, frown drawn tight across his face.   
“You don’t remember this man at all?” 

“No” he replies, not hesitating a moment to answer.

They begin feeding him stories, starting with the small, happy ones. 

“I always bought the groceries, and you never helped me..” he says, the memory leaving a bitterly sweet taste in his mouth.   
One of a sour cherry soaked in sugar paste. 

Sherlock shook his head, causing his bother to let out a worried sigh. 

“Sherlock- your sure you can’t recall anything?” He says almost frantically. 

There was a slight pause before he answered, a crack in his built up wall, holding in all reminders of his relationship with the man sitting before him. 

“No” 

They say in a somber calculation silence, everyone attempting to bring to light any remembrance of the blonde. 

“Do you remember my blog?”   
He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing his story   
“I wrote down every one of our cases, it was part of my therapy, and you became famous because of it.”   
He emphasizes the word ours, it holding a special, deeper meaning.   
A small spark lights in Sherlocks eyes. 

“You were at my wedding, the best man in fact, and you did this incredibly long speech because someone was about to get killed..” 

Mycroft interjects, sensing his little brothers restlessness.   
“Would you like tea?” He asks, a sentence John usually utters. 

They both nod, John looking up with his heavy eyes saying   
“Yes please” 

Mycroft bends down to whisper in sherlocks ear, 

“This man killed someone for you. The first day you met.”

He gets up and leaves. 

John is becoming desperate, fidgeting with his fingers.   
This is not something he usually does, but this is a different situation.   
He feels as if the room is closing in on him, all because the man he loves, the man he ignored for quite some time, has deleted him. 

He takes a breath before bringing out a tedious thing to mention. 

“Mary”   
He begins, voice cracking slightly   
“My wife, Mary was shot and killed saving you. You thought the woman wouldn’t shoot- but she did” 

Sherlock feels sick, his stomach turning and rolling with each word spoken.   
Images flood his mind, ones of this mans, johns, face in anguish.   
He looks betrayed as tears slip down his cheeks, fury and grief mixing into this concoction of destruction and suffering. 

Sherlock gasps, tumbling backward in his chair slightly. 

He recognizes this man,   
He knows all they have been through  
He can summon memories, as clear as daylight into his mind. 

“John-?“

**Author's Note:**

> please request! i’m running out of ideas
> 
> also thank you to BignRichKris who has been extremely supportive and wonderful!


End file.
